


Pride

by Mockingone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead People, Drama, F/M, Multi, Ned and Cersei are... something, Ned and Jaime are BFFs, Pairings TBD, Tyrion is Tyrion, Tywin Does Not Put Up With Crap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingone/pseuds/Mockingone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned Stark is sent to Casterly Rock to be fostered instead of the Vale. And a wolf among lions learns to sharpen his claws…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Long and Sharp As Yours

 

The North had long been separate from most of Westeros. Cold and culture had created a wall between the southron lands and its unyielding northern sister. The clash between the old gods and the Seven were only part of the divide—mutual disdain and ignorance made up the rest. Most northerners preferred it that way. After all, the North had survived alone since the time of the First Men.

But winter was coming. Rickard Stark knew that the North could not remain isolated. Not for any longer. Aerys' madness would tear all seven kingdoms apart, including the North. They needed allies in the other realms to stay strong, to become stronger.

With this in mind, the Lord of Winterfell penned two letters. One to his dear friend Jon Arryn, who Rickard knew would gladly foster one of his sons. The other son, however, would have to be sent to a different southron lord. The identity of that southron lord still remained in question.

The Tullys, perhaps? No, a marriage alliance between his eldest son and their eldest daughter would be sufficient enough. He would not even consider Dorne; Rickard refused to send any child of his so far south. Perhaps the Highgardens, but there was no love lost between Mace Tyrell and Rickard.

And the Lannisters…

Casterly Rock had nearly fallen into ruins with its former lord, but Tywin Lannister had brought his House into heights unseen. The Lannisters were now known for their wealth, prestige, and power.

As well as their cruelty and cunning.

Rickard did not feel comfortable imagining any of his sons in that lion's den. For a moment, he contemplated tearing the second letter in two and forgetting this entire ordeal. The Lannisters were unlikely to accept his proposal. And one Stark outside of Winterfell was enough.

Then, cold reason prevailed. The advantages of such alliance were far too tempting to ignore. With a heart heavier than he would have liked, Rickard sealed the letter.

* * *

Tywin examined the boy, looking at him with an expression of disdain that had made older men quail. To his credit, he only paled slightly before clenching and unclenching his fists.

Tywin had expected his ward to be a wild, scowling boy. He'd expected a barbarian, perhaps with Jaime's recklessness, but without the charm and manners his own son had. He had not expected a quiet child with solemn eyes and an air of consideration.

"Eddard Stark. Welcome to Casterly Rock." Tywin's tone rivaled the cold of Winterfell.

"Thank you, Lord Lannister." The Stark was all politeness. _He seems to have some manners, at least._

Tywin turned to walk through his halls, and the Stark followed him like a shadow. He paused by an ornate wooden door and turned to face his ward.

"This is my study. You are not to enter it unless I personally request it." He pinned the boy with his gaze. "A servant will take you to your rooms."

After bowing, the child left his presence.

* * *

Jaime paused in his match with Flement Brax. In the courtyard, behind the pillars, a strange boy was watching. Flement tried to take advantage of his distraction, but Jaime simply disarmed him with a twist of his sword. _Dull. Flement couldn't beat me if I was blindfolded._

"Who's that?" said Jaime, ignoring the frowning face of Flement. "I haven't seen him before."

"I don't know." After a moment, the Brax grudgingly added, "It might be the Stark. He arrived here a few days ago."

"I think you're right." Jaime sheathed his sword and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey, you! Are you that wolf?"

The watching boy seemed taken aback at that. "I am," he replied steadily. "I am Eddard Stark."

The Lannister smirked. "And I'm Jaime Lannister. Well?"

The Stark frowned, which seemed to be his default expression. "Yes?"

"Don't just stand there!" He gestured to the swords rack in the corner of the yard. "Are you going to join me or not?" _Maybe this boy can give me a challenge._

Stark stared at Jaime for a long moment, and Jaime briefly wondered if the boy was slow. Then, the Stark nodded. The older boy grabbed a sword, tested its balance, and stood across from Jaime. The Stark seemed to know how to handle a blade; he gripped it confidently.

Jaime's smile grew. _It's been awhile since I've sparred with a new opponent_. "Shall we?"

* * *

Cersei's handmaidens struggled to match her pace and elegance. Next to her, they looked like mousy rag dolls.

"Keep up," she snapped. Their half-hearted murmurs of acquiescence only made her angrier. _Stupid girls. I don't know why father makes me spend time with them. They're ugly and incompetent._

Her admonishment died in her mouth when she noticed the boy walking towards her. He seemed utterly dull, with dark hair and eyes—as interesting and handsome as a rock. Cersei didn't know what Jaime saw in him.

"You're that wolf." Cersei gave him a cool, disdainful stare that made most boys stutter and cringe. "You look more like a mutt to me." _What does Jaime see in him?_

The Stark seemed more surprised than angry. If anything, he appeared amused. "I am indeed Eddard Stark," he replied gravely, no humor in his voice. "And I believe you are Cersei Lannister. Your brother has told me much about you."

"I am _Lady_ Cersei Lannister to you, Stark." Cersei sneered at him. "And he's made no such mention of you."

Eddard gave a short bow. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I have no such feelings." Cersei brushed past him. _Lions do not consort with wolves._

* * *

"Another?" asked Jaime with a grin. He flourished his training sword and offered a hand to his partner.

Ned accepted the hand with a good-natured scowl. Panting, he struggled to his feet, but he raised his weapon all the same. "I don't see the point," he grumbled. "You'll win again."

"Not true! You did beat me once." _Which is more than the others could say. Stark's the only one who's a challenge to me._

"That was luck. You slipped on Flement's blood." Ned had the advantage of three years and an exceedingly patient temperament. He waited until his opponent made a mistake, and then he struck with unforgiving precision. Still, he was no match for Jaime's raw skill.

Jaime waved his hand dismissively. "Luck on the battlefield determines fate—"

"As often as the swords of men. Yes, yes, I know," said the Stark with exasperation. "Besides, you defeated me five times. That's not luck."

"It's skill." Jaime wasn't bragging when he said that. Even grown men had lost to him. _I'll become greater than all knights before me, even Barristan the Bold._ "So. Another?"

Eddard sighed. "Alright. Another."

* * *

Everything in Casterly Rock was golden. When Eddard Stark first laid eyes on the ancient stronghold, the setting sun had gilded the mountaintop. The Lannisters were just as extravagant, with manes like lions and eyes like chipped emeralds. The finery was as suffocating as the heat. In his plain gray clothing, Ned was an iron dagger next to jewel-encrusted swords.

Cersei certainly seemed to think so. She treated him with contempt on better days and blatant abhorrence on the worst. Lord Tywin rarely acknowledged him, giving nothing more than the minimum required courtesies. Jaime, at least, saw beyond his name. The Lannister heir was always willing to spar or drag Ned into his schemes. In some ways, he reminded Ned of Brandon.

He sighed at that. _Casterly Rock isn't Winterfell, and it will never be. But perhaps it could—_

"Ned, you're brooding again!" Jaime's loud voice echoed through the halls. "Do you want to come to Lannisport or not?"

"Alright, I'm coming." Ned stepped away from the window and followed after his friend. "It's not like you'll give me a choice," he complained good-naturedly.

"Of course not!" Jaime laughed. "If I let you, you'd be stuck in the library all day, scowling at some dusty book." His voice became higher in pitch. "Woe is me, woe is me," he mimicked. "I'm a Northerner among all these fancy fools. Whatever ever am I to do?"

"Hey!" Ned pushed his friend. "I don't do that!"

"You do!" Jaime snickered. "Without me, you'd be miserable."

Ned winced at that. Jaime's playful words were too close to the truth for comfort. _Besides him, I doubt anyone likes me here,_ he thought grimly. _Even the servants think me to be some barbarian savage._

Jaime, who was far more perceptive than most people thought, sensed his shift in mood. "Hey, cheer up." The Lannister nudged him. "We're going out to enjoy ourselves. You're pale enough as it is."

"I suppose." Ned gave a small smile. "I'll do my best."

Jaime beamed. "That's good enough for me!"

* * *

Tywin wondered why he continued to engage in this exercise of futility. Teaching his son strategy was like wringing water from a rock. Honestly, Tywin wondered if there was room in Jaime's pretty head for anything but swordsmanship.

"Jaime," he said with gritted teeth, "the trebuchet cannot move over other pieces."

His son gave a put-upon sigh. "The dragon can do that. Why can't the trebuchet? What difference does it make?" Jaime rested his chin on his hand. "I don't understand why you force me to play cyvasse. Sir Broom's waiting for me, anyway. He promised me a spar." He brightened. "Why don't you make Ned play? He's better at these sort of things."

Tywin's lip curled at his son's familiar form of address. _Ned? What next? Will Jaime start addressing the smallfolk by their given names?_

Said Stark jerked at the mention of his name. The boy had been hovering by the door of the study, unsure of what to do while Jaime played with his father.

"Is that so?" Tywin gave his ward a considering look before turning his gaze to his son. He steepled his fingers and stifled a sigh. The game was hopeless; even seven extra dragons wouldn't save his son from losing. "You are dismissed." _Heavens help me. I'm far too soft on the boy._

Jaime leaped out of his chair, nearly knocking over the cyvasse board. "Come on, Ned! Ser Broom said he'd show us that Dornish trick to—"

"I dismissed you, Jaime. I never said anything to Eddard," interrupted Tywin. "You were the one who said that he would be a better substitute."

Jaime stopped at that. Uncertainly, he glanced at the Stark. The northern boy gave a weak smile. "You should go, Jaime. Lord Lannister wants me to play a game. It'd be rude of me to refuse."

After a second of hesitation, Jaime clasped the boy's shoulder. He whispered something into Eddard's ear before striding out of the study. Now that Eddard was alone with the Lord of Casterly Rock, all of his bravado seemed to drain away. With slow, almost nervous steps, the Stark walked to Tywin's desk.

"Sit."

Eddard obeyed. He peered at the board, unwilling to meet Tywin's eyes.

"Do you know how to play?" Tywin didn't have the time or patience to teach a northern barbarian the finer points of a strategic game.

"I do," replied Eddard evenly. "My father taught me." Finally, he raised his eyes.

 _He has some spine, it seems._ Tywin began to reset the board. Eddard followed suit, placing his pieces in their starting positions. _But if spine were all that was needed, then Jaime would be the next Young Dragon._

"You have first move." Tywin studied the Stark while the boy examined the board. Eddard's nervousness seemed to be forgotten as he moved his first piece.

The move was a simple, defensive one. Eddard had repositioned his heavy horse in order to allow greater movement of his other troops.

Tywin retaliated by setting the beginnings of a trap by the mountains. Eddard fell for it, but he recovered by attacking with his light cavalry. Tywin prodded at Eddard's reserve troops with his dragon. Eddard managed to fend off the attack, though sacrificing several of his more powerful tokens. _Well, he knows how to move the pieces. That makes him slightly more skilled Jaime._

The Lannister picked up the captured trebuchet and studied it. _His style focuses heavily on defense. He always reacts, never attacking for himself. It's a bad habit that needs to be broken. And soon_. Wryly, Tywin realized he was planning for a second game.

He moved his crossbowmen against Eddard's rabble. Tywin captured several pieces before realizing the trick. The Stark had placed his heavy horses across from the rabble to pin his crossbowmen. Grudgingly, Tywin increased his estimation of Eddard's skill. He was much better than his own son. The ploy had been subtle, more subtle than he'd expected from a witlessly honorable Stark.

Tywin moved his catapults in closer, following the crossbowmen. _It was a valiant effort, but the game will be over in a few moves._

Then, out of nowhere, Eddard moved his dragon to the center of Tywin's formation. The Lannister gave a startled laugh. The Stark's look of fierce concentration was broken; he seemed utterly shocked by his reaction.

 _The boy must think me humorless._ He chuckled again. "Interesting choice," said Tywin, speaking for the first time since the game started.

Eddard stared at him. "T-Thank you, my lord," he mumbled.

Despite the Stark's unorthodox move, Tywin's victory was assured. All Eddard done was prolong the match. After a battle that was admittedly more difficult than Tywin had expected, the Lannister captured Eddard's king. The boy reviewed the board glumly. If the despondent expression was anything to go by, Eddard was berating himself. _Likely for making such a foolish mistake at the start of the game._

"Jaime was not lying."

The Stark looked up. "Yes, Lord Lannister?" His tone was wary but respectful.

"You do have some talent for cyvasse." Tywin gestured at the board. "Play with me again."

Eddard seemed flustered at the compliment. "Yes, Lord Lannister." He ducked his head to set the board, but Tywin could see a hint of a smile.

* * *

"You were stuck with my father forever," moaned Jaime, giving Ned a friendly pat on the back. "You must be glad to get out of that stuffy study."

Ned was quiet for a moment. "It was…" _I don't think 'fun' is the right word,_ he thought. "It was interesting."

"By the Seven, really? Don't tell me you're about to become a bloody maester," he scoffed. "It looks like you need another bout in the grounds to remind you what fun is."

Ned groaned. "After those games with your father, my head is sore. Don't make my muscles hurt, too."

"Well, you—"

"That can't possibly be true," a haughty voice interrupted. A beautiful girl strode into the training ground, her two handmaidens following like ducklings. Somehow, she seemed to be as aristocratic as ever, despite being in a muddy courtyard.

 _Great. Cersei._ "What do you mean, Lady Cersei?" Ned gave her a barely polite smile.

"What I mean, you Northern oaf, is that Father couldn't possibly have played cyvasse with _you_." She gave a disdainful sniff. "Cyvasse is for the intellectually high-minded. Can you even comprehend the rules?" Cersei smoothed her dress, letting it flare behind her. "Father doesn't even play with _me_. Step beyond your delusions, please."

Jaime gave a short laugh. "Stop, Cers. Father _did_ play with Ned." He turned his grin to Ned. "He's pretty good at those sort of boring things."

Ned hid a smug smile at her shocked expression. _Indeed,_ Lady _Cersei. Lord Tywin played with me instead of you._ "If you'd like, my lady, I could play a game of cyvasse with you, sometime."

For a moment, Cersei looked like she was about to slap him. Her eyes glinted dangerously as she pulled herself together. "Perhaps," she said, teeth gritted. Cersei turned and stormed away. Her panicking handmaidens ran after her. Ned watched her go. _Somehow, she manages to make a temper tantrum look graceful._ He glanced at Jaime, who was also watching his sister. There was a strange look in his friend's eye, one that Ned couldn't quite place.

Then the moment ended. "Well, Ned." Jaime shrugged. "I don't feel up to sparring anymore. I'm going to find Cersei and calm her down. You know how she gets. Why don't you go read a book or something?"

"Alright," said Ned slowly. _After that thrashing that Lord Tywin gave me, I might as well study more about cyvasse._ The Stark watched Jaime leave the courtyard. _Still, what can distract Jaime from sparring?_

* * *

Eddard stood on one of Casterly Rock's many balconies, engaging in what Jaime charitably called 'brooding.' Even after several months (almost a year?), seeing the sun set from Casterly Rock took his breath away. _If only Lyanna was here to see this…_ He smiled to himself. _She never liked pretty dresses, but she always did like watching the sunset_. _I should write to her about the view from Casterly Rock._

The chatty letters he received from his siblings were one of the few things keeping him sane. Brandon was as garrulous as ever, always telling Ned about every little event in his life. Lyanna's letters ranged from complaints to angry rants to gushing praise about her new horse. Benjen was still learning his letters, so his were short and full of mistakes. Ned cherished them all the same.

"Oh! Lord Stark!"

Ned turned to see a nervous nursemaid curtseying. In her arms, she held a blond, squirming child. The boy seemed to be two or so, but he was much smaller than Benjen was at that age. Ned's eyes went from the too-large head to the deformed, stunted body. _He's the dwarf. Tyrion, wasn't it? Jaime's younger brother?_

"I-If I knew, Lord Stark," stammered the girl, "I… I w-would have never presumed to intrude…" she trailed off, trembling slightly.

Ned held back a sigh. Apparently, the nursemaid was one of the servants who thought him to be a savage brute. _For the Seven's sake, I'm not going to eat her._ "It's fine," he said shortly. "You're welcome to stay."

Still shaking, the nursemaid set Tyrion down. The young Lannister seemed to be a cheerful child. He was content to sit in one place and play with his wooden toys.

Jaime had talked about his brother from time to time, but neither Cersei nor Lord Tywin even visited Tyrion. From what Ned had put together from rumors, they both considered Tyrion to be a mistake—a murderer, even, since Lady Lannister had died in childbirth. _Just like Mother did with Benjen,_ thought Ned, frowning. _But it'd be foolish of me to blame Benjen for Mother's death._

He knelt by Tyrion and smiled. "Hello." Ned offered the boy a hand. "I'm Ned Stark."

The dwarf took the wooden toy from his mouth and smiled. "Hello," he said back, placing the carved soldier in Ned's outstretched palm. "I'm Tyrion." He was surprisingly fluent for a child his age. "Are you gonna play with me?"

Ned blinked. "Alright. What are you playing?"

"This is Aegon Targaryen during the Dance of the Dragons. I'm reenacting the Battle of King's Road. You can be Cregan Stark." Tyrion gave Ned an expectant look.

Laughing softly, Ned complied. "Yes, Prince Aemon Targaryen." _He sounds like Tywin, giving all those commands._

"Good! Oh. I have all the dragons. Because when I grow bigger, I'm going to see all the cities in Essos. And dragons, too!" Tywin beamed, and his ugly features all brightened.

Ned smiled back, feeling the absence of his own siblings more acutely than ever. "I'm sure you will."

* * *

Ned flipped through the pages of the old tome, misleadingly titled _The Strategies to Victory_. When he first picked it up, Ned had assumed that it was about the strategies of cyvasse—instead, it discussed the strategies of actual conquest. Still, the book was engaging, despite its dry language. Ned had read more than half of it, and he planned on finishing it.

A cough interrupted his reading. "You. Play cyvasse with me."

Ned looked up to see Cersei looking down at him. Her lips were twisted in a pout, and her hands were holding an engraved cyvasse set.

"What?" Ned blinked at the disdainful Lannister. _I must have heard her incorrectly. Cersei would never voluntarily spend time with me._

"I asked," Cersei took a deep breath, "if you would you play a match of cyvasse with me, Lord Eddard." She spat his name like a curse. "You offered, remember? Or is your memory so short—" Cersei cut herself off. "Please?" She smiled sweetly.

Ned almost shuddered to see that saccharine expression directed at him. _Cersei? Smiling at me? Impossible._ He frowned at her, trying to determine whether she was sincere or not. _She looks much prettier without that scowl,_ he thought, almost unwillingly.

"Well?" Cersei's fingers drummed against the table. Grimacing, she stopped and crossed her arms.

Ned deliberated. _On one hand, I'd hate to do what Cersei wants me to do, but on the other hand…_ "If it pleases you, my lady." His smile was as false as hers. He set aside his book and unfolded the beautifully carved set.

Cersei seated herself at the table. Daintily, she placed the screen and set her side of the board. Ned did the same. Once they both had placed their pieces, Cersei removed the screen. She was the first to move and speak. "I'll have you know that I always defeat my brother." Her words were full of challenge.

Ned bit back his retort. _Even a pigeon could beat Jaime at cyvasse._ "Of course, my lady." His words were perfectly neutral, which seemed to infuriate Cersei. He moved his heavy cavalry into her side of the board.

She sneered and began her attack. Her style was overconfident and condescending, which played right into his hands. _Lord Tywin beat out most of my bad habits. Has she only played with Jaime?_ After Ned's weekly games with Tywin, Cersei wasn't even a challenge.

His impenetrable defense and piercing attack quickly drove her back. To her growing frustration, Cersei found each of her attacks failing. Her moves became wild and desperate, and the reckless attacks cost more and more of her pieces.

Then, the match was over. Ned moved his Elephant. "The King has fallen." He smiled at her, this time genuinely. He barely managed to keep himself from gloating. _Victory has never been so sweet._

Cersei must have noticed his smugness, because she chucked her dragon at him with a shriek of rage. Ned caught the elegant ivory piece and placed it nonchalantly on the table. Cersei knocked her chair over as she stood, growing redder by the minute.

 _Would you look at that?_ he thought idly. _With her face and hair, Cersei has both of the Lannister colors._

"You…" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You can't have won! You filthy…" Cersei spluttered helplessly, eyes darting from the board to his face.

Ned tilted his head and steepled his fingers in an imitation of Lord Twin. "I took your king. That's normally how the game ends, correct?" Ned was finding it more difficult to keep the triumphant grin of his face.

"You must have cheated!" she shrieked. "What else could I expect from a barbarian like _you!_ "

Ned felt a surge of anger. _She can insult me, my appearance, and even my intelligence, but how_ dare _she question my honor!_ He slammed his hands against the table and leaned forward. "I do not need to cheat to win against _you_ ," he growled. "I could play against you a hundred times, and I would win every time! Would _that_ be enough proof, Lady Cersei?"

Cersei drew back, stunned at his display of fury. She'd insulted him countless times, but Ned had never reacted so vehemently. And in her emerald eyes, Ned saw a glint of fear. _Good. I may be in the south, but I am a wolf. She better not forget._

"Fine," she said, voice shaking slightly. This time, Ned was the one surprised—Cersei sat down again. Her skirts flared around her, swirling like flames. Any fear she had was quickly replaced by determination. "Play me again."

* * *

Tywin looked at his ward. In almost every area, the Stark had exceeded his expectations. Almost. When it came to politics, Eddard was hopelessly naïve. Tywin resisted the urge to massage his temples. He'd fielded various scenarios to the boy, and nearly every time, Eddard had taken the honorable, stupid way out.

"Tell me, Eddard." Tywin pressed his fingers together. "If the King asked for the execution of a smallfolk on false pretenses, what would you do?"

"I'd refuse," said Eddard immediately. "If he didn't commit the crime, I wouldn't sentence him."

"Really? The death of an insignificant, single individual is worth the anger of a king?" Tywin gave a short sigh _. What did Rickard teach to this boy?_ "You do realize that the king could strip your family of titles, and if need be, execute them? Which is more important to you: your family or your honor?"

Eddard hesitated at that. "Still… I don't think that it's right to kill innocents," he replied stubbornly.

"Ever?" Tywin frowned at him. "Do you know the story of House Reynes?"

The Stark looked away, clenching and unclenching his fists in that nervous habit of his. "Yes, my lord."

The Lannister let the silence drag on. "And?" he said, just as the quiet became uncomfortable. "Tell me, boy. In my place, what would you have done?"

"I wouldn't presume to question your decision, Lord Lannister," demurred Eddard. "What—"

"I wanted for your opinion." Tywin's tone turned harsh. "If I wanted nonsense, I would have asked for it."

Eddard avoided Tywin's glare. After several seconds more, he finally spoke. "I wouldn't have killed them all. You'd defeated them already. And… by flooding the mines, you killed women and children. _Innocents_." He paused. "I… I would have accepted their surrender."

"Is that so?" Tywin glare grew darker. _His Northern sentiments are appalling._ _The boy has to learn the futility of his idealism._ "You would have allowed for open rebellion to be unpunished? Now, what would be the consequences of that?"

Clenching his teeth, Eddard made to speak. "But then—"

"The land ravaged. Thousands dead, including the smallfolk under _your_ protection, and for what? _Nothing_." He leaned forward. "You would have taught your vassals that outright defiance has no consequences. Would you enjoy the death of your family? Of loyal men? Would you enjoy war? Because _that_ is what your decision would have led to."

Eddard's eyes turned stormy and downcast. "I…" He tried again. "I…"

 _Now he understands_. "Don't make the same mistakes as my father, Eddard. If you continue with your futile, senseless decisions, then that is your path." Tywin softened his voice. "Honor is a fine cloak to wear, but do not let it strangle you."

The boy didn't respond. Tears shone at the corner of Eddard's eyes, though he made a valiant effort to keep them from falling.

"You are dismissed," said Tywin, letting him leave before the boy lost all his composure.

After bowing, the Stark fled the room.

* * *

Tywin set aside the letter, turning his gaze to the three children in front of him. The twins stood perfectly still and respectful, golden and poised. Behind them, to the side, was Eddard Stark. His ward was as dark and solemn as ever.

 _Such a shame he wasn't the first son,_ though Tywin. _I might have considered giving him Cersei's hand if he was. With his temperament, Eddard would have made a fine ruler._ Nearly a year had passed since the Northern boy had joined them at Casterly Rock, and Tywin had grown somewhat fond of the Stark. _Nevertheless, I have greater plans for my daughter. She deserves nothing less than being queen._

Tywin ended his perusal of the trio. "The king has summoned me to resume my post as Hand."

Cersei's eyes sparkled, and Jaime grinned brightly. Both had been eager to visit King's Landing. Jaime had been especially incessant about his desire. His ward, on the other hand, seemed to grow more crestfallen.

"You are to come as well, Eddard." Tywin nodded at the boy.

Eddard blinked. "R-Really, my lord?" he said, sounding doubtful. "But… I assumed I'd be staying here…" he trailed off, glancing at Jaime.

"You are fostered with _me_ , not Casterly Rock," snapped Tywin. "We are to travel to King's Landing in a week. Do not question my decision."

Eddard looked both wary and hopeful. "I understand, Lord Lannister."

The three children exchanged glances. To Tywin's surprise, Cersei reacted less with outright hostility and more with subdued satisfaction. _I was aware that they had taken to playing cyvasse, but that should have led to Cersei despising the boy. Ned is by far her superior in temperament and intelligence, and Cersei never takes defeat well._ As much as Tywin hated to admit it, beauty was one of his daughter's few good qualities. Her spitfire temperament would have been manageable in a male heir, but in a woman it was nothing but a burden. Tywin made a note to examine his daughter's relationship with Eddard.

Jaime, on the other hand, was practically bursting with excitement. His heir and the Stark boy had grown close, much like actual brothers. _A relationship that Jaime can never have with that imp_. To Tywin's disgruntlement, both Eddard and Jaime had taken to spending time with that dwarf. Still, Tywin had no cause to intervene yet. And he was loathe to intervene in Jaime's relationship with Eddard. The Stark had been a tempering influence on his son. Before, Jaime would have shouted his excitement, acting like a bumbling fool, instead of the future lord he was. _If anything, Jaime's learned the vital importance of keeping his mouth shut._

"I expect you all to act befitting of a Great House," said Tywin. "None of you shall disgrace me."

They all murmured various words of agreement. _No._ The Lannister frowned. _None of you will. But it is not your actions that I am concerned about_.

He stepped away from his desk and turned, silently dismissing the three. _Aerys, my old friend,_ thought Tywin grimly. _For the Realm's sake, I hope your sanity has returned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this will be very, very AU. Canon will not be the same. Canon will be cheerfully defenestrated. However, canon before the point of divergence will be adhered to.
> 
> Many, many thanks to Duesal Bladesinger and Igornerd for beta-ing. They are the absolute best.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	2. He Weighs Our Lives, the Short and Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King's Landing is treacherous for lions, dragons, and wolves.

 

  
The Iron Throne loomed over the gathered crowd. Seated in the center was King Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm… who was utterly, undeniably mad.  
  
Blood dripped from a fresh cut on his cheek. Countless scars littered his arms. His stringy, unkempt hair lay tangled among the throne's blades, and his equally-long beard was as dirty as King's Landing itself. Aerys pressed one hand against his chin, his long, gnarled nails nearly reaching his eyes. The other hand tapped an incessant pattern against the side of the throne.  
  
Ned stared at the man. _That is not how a king should look_ , he thought with disgust. _Lord Tywin looks more kingly than him._  
  
"My… friend," hissed the King. The crowd quickly quieted. "My friend, Lord Tywin Lannister. How kind of you to grace us with your presence." He giggled, high and tittering.  
  
Tywin remained kneeling. "Of course, your grace. I am always at your service."  
  
"Oh, of course!" he shrieked. Abruptly, the king smiled. "And how is your wife, dear Joanna? My wife has sorely missed her at court. As have I."  
  
Jaime stiffened, and Cersei grasped her gown tighter. Tywin, however, seemed unaffected. "She passed away two years ago, your grace." His words were polite, distant, as if he was discussing the weather or the hall's decorations.  
  
"Oh yes, of _course_ ," he drawled. "It must have slipped my mind. Not much does, as you are aware."  
  
"Very much so, your grace."  
  
Ned's eyes wandered to the crowd as the king and Lord Lannister exchanged barely veiled pleasantries. He could see the colors of every major house and even more minor ones. Then, he saw the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard, and Ned's eyes widened. Standing to the side of them was a young man with silver hair and violet eyes. A slight frown marred his handsome features as he looked at the king.  
  
_That must be the crown prince. He, at least, looks princely._  
  
Ned's attention turned back to Lord Lannister; the king had finally given him permission to rise. Unfortunately, that permission didn't extend to Tywin's children or Ned. The three of them remained kneeling—or curtsying, in Cersei's case.  
  
"So this is your heir?" Aerys grinned, though it looked more like a snarl. His yellowing, decaying teeth contrasted greatly with his pale skin. _Like a corpse_. "He has your looks. But none of your intellect, from what I hear." His eyes settled on Cersei. "And the girl." The king tilted his head. "She looks like Joanna."  
  
Cersei's knuckles turned white, and Jaime's hands went to his hip, reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Tywin gazed at the king, entirely impassive.  
  
"Your ward is here, I see." The king's violet eyes seemed to grow darker. "A Stark. How odd to see one here. I hear more and more tidings of wolves in the south."  
  
Ned carefully studied the bottom of the throne. _Do I answer?_ _Silence seems like a better choice._  
  
Moments passed. The king seemed to lose interest in him. "Leave me," he announced.  
  
Ned was only glad to do so.  


 

* * *

 

Even after a year at the ostentatious Casterly Rock, Ned couldn't help but be impressed with the Red Keep. It wasn't particularly large—Winterfell was at least thrice its size—but every inch of it exuded authority. The rooms held finery from across the realms, from Dornish silk to Riverland carvings and even pelts from the North. The Targaryens had wanted no one to forget that they ruled all the seven kingdoms.  
  
In nowhere was it more evident than the Library Tower. Every inch of the walls was covered in books, old and new, written in every language imaginable. Ned marvelled at the sheer variety. Before he'd been sent south, Ned had never been a devout reader. He'd read what he'd had to, but he'd always been more interested in riding through the woods or mock-fighting with his brothers. But in Casterly Rock, Ned didn't have his three siblings to keep his attention. Jaime was the only one who voluntarily spent time with him, and Jaime wasn't always there. So he'd frequented the library, reading historical accounts of past lords.  
  
Though Jaime had complained about his new habit, Lord Tywin had tacitly approved, going as far to recommend a few books. And tacit approval from Lord Lannister was the equivalent of a command. Cersei seemed ambivalent about his reading, though she had forced Ned to read a few of her favorite romance novels. Ned had found them laughable, and he'd told her as much—Cersei had stormed off in a huff, refusing to talk to him for several days. (Which had been a relief, frankly.)  
  
Ned paused upon seeing a thin, leather-bound book among the giant volumes. On its spine, inscribed in gold, were three words: _Conquest of Dorne_. Ned pulled it from the shelf. _Lord Lannister had suggested this book, earlier. I assumed it'd be bigger_.  
  
Ned opened it to the first page and was immediately enraptured by the tale. His mind reached to desert battles and kings, war and bloodshed. He read the first part, and then the second, and the third—  
  
" _Conquest of Dorne_ is a favorite of mine, as well." A low, iron-toned voice interrupted his reading.  
  
Startled, Ned nearly stumbled over his own feet. After standing in one spot for so long, his legs had become numb. He turned to see the speaker and froze.  
  
"My—I mean, your grace," he fumbled, managing to regain his composure and bow neatly. "I did not mean to intrude."  
  
With his flowing hair, dark violet eyes, and aristocratic features, Rhaegar Targaryen looked every bit like the hero of Cersei's infamous novels.  
  
The prince smiled. "No, I was the one who intruded on your reading. Forgive me. I was simply curious. Rarely do I find another lover of books in the Red Keep."  
  
"Oh," replied Ned awkwardly. "Well… I am Eddard Stark of Winterfell."  
  
"Lord Rickard Stark's second son, I believe. And you are currently the ward of the Hand?"  
  
"Yes, your grace."  
  
The prince's expression became enigmatic. "Indeed. It was a pleasure, Eddard Stark. I will leave you to your book. Do tell me your thoughts on it after you finish." With those parting words, Rhaegar left as suddenly as he arrived.  
  
Eddard stared after him. _The prince knows who I am_.  


 

* * *

 

Somehow, Rhaegar always seemed to know when Eddard had finished a book. He'd appear right after and rope Eddard into a conversation about the writing. And Ned was more than a little flattered by Rhaegar's attention. The prince seemed to actually value his opinions, always listening thoughtfully to what the Stark had to say. Ned began looking forward to Rhaegar's conversations—the prince was the smartest person he'd ever met, save for perhaps Lord Lannister.  
  
They didn't always agree, of course. Rhaegar was more idealistic than Ned, and their discussions usually ended up becoming friendly arguments.  
  
"You believe that King Viserys the First should have named an heir sooner?" Rhaegar frowned.  
  
"Of course." Ned shook his head. "Half the war was caused by his dallying. Queen Rhaenyra was trained to be queen, and neither of her half-brothers had the inclination or aptitude to rule." He scoffed. "The Dance of the Dragons had to be the most pointless war in the Seven Kingdoms. In the end, the descendants of both factions married and took the throne. The loss of loyal bannermen, the slaughter of the dragons, all for what?"  
  
"Indeed," mused Rhaegar. "Or, had the king simply married Rhaenyra to Aegon II, then the war would not have happened. Perhaps that would have been the best solution."  
  
Ned grimaced. _I will never understand how the Targaryens marry siblings_. "I suppose." He set his book aside and looked at the shelves. "Still, the war started all because of one man's foolish actions."  
  
Rhaegar looked thoughtful. "I suppose it did."  


 

* * *

Prince Rhaegar was the most incredible person Cersei had ever seen. No poem or ballad could depict his grace or charm. Handsome, kind, and intelligent, he was perfection made reality. Cersei couldn't help but blush (prettily, of course) whenever she was near the violet-eyed man. Even Jaime paled in comparison the Rhaegar Targaryen. What good was a lion cub when you could have a dragon?  
  
But despite her best efforts, the prince never seemed to notice her. She wore the loveliest dresses, said the wittiest remarks, and always made sure to be around Rhaegar when she could. But the prince seemed to care more about the Stark than her. Oh, Cersei knew that she'd marry the prince one day. She would become queen. Silver and gold _belonged_ together. Cersei would find a way.  
  
And as much as she hated it, that 'way' was Eddard Stark.  
  
"You," she said imperiously.  
  
Eddard looked up from that dusty tome his nose was stuck in. "My lady. I assume you need something."  
  
Cersei sneered at the mockery in his tone. "Indeed I do. Prince Rhaegar seems to find something in interest of you. Perhaps he's been on the search for a new court jester." She paused to examine the new ring her father had bought. Cersei held it at an angle to allow the Stark to see it as well. It was likely more finery than he had witnessed in his life. "Regardless, I want you to tell me what you know of the prince."  
  
Understanding and amusement flickered in his gray eyes. "You wish for me to aid you in your romantic endeavors? They've been the talk of court. Surely you don't need my help."  
  
"Your _advice,_ " she said, teeth gritted, "would be much appreciated." _How dare he mock me? Me, the daughter of Tywin Lannister, the King's Hand and the lord of the Westerlands! Future queen of Westeros!_  
  
The Stark made a show of considering her words. "In that case, my lady, I might offer a few words. The prince appreciates intellect, understanding, and knowledge. While you may have other… assets, I think you have much to improve before you can catch Prince Rhaegar's attention." He gave an exaggerated bow. "If you'll excuse me."  
  
Cersei snarled as he took his leave. "You bumbling savage!" With a stomp of her foot, she cursed Eddard Stark to the seven hells and back. "You just wait. You'll pay when I become queen! The dungeons will suit you just fine!"  
  
She flounced into her chair and crossed her arms. Slightly more calm, Cersei mused over Eddard's words. _The prince_ does _like to spend time reading…_ She glanced at the book Eddard had left behind. Sighing at the thought of reading historical drivel, Cersei flipped open to the first page. _Maybe Rhaegar will come to the library. Then, I can finally charm him. He'll love me. He has to._  


 

* * *

 

Since coming to the Keep, Jaime had thrived. He had sparred against squires and knights and warriors, and he loved every moment of it. Unlike Casterly Rock, the Red Keep had fighters that could actually challenge him. The weapons-master of the keep had even praised him, saying that Jaime had more talent than any boy he'd seen.  
  
Still, Jaime made sure to spar at least once a week with Ned. Though Jaime had long outpaced him, Ned surprised him from time to time. And Ned was his friend—the closest one he had. Bantering with him was simply _fun_. Despite his efforts, Jaime had seen less and less of the unbelievably stiff Stark. For some reason, the library had caught Ned's attention. Whenever Jaime questioned him, the Stark gave vague answers about improving his knowledge.  
  
And it wasn't just Ned. Even Cersei had avoided Jaime. She was too busy frittering with her ladies or swooning over that Prince Rhaegar. He scowled. Ever since they'd come to the Red Keep, Cersei hadn't bothered to meet with him at all. _A man had his needs_ , thought Jaime darkly. _Aren't I enough for her?_  
  
Jaime polished the sword and sheathed it into the rack. The weapons-master had given him permission to use live steel to practice, but since Jaime didn't want to cut off Ned's hand, he pulled out two wooden practice swords instead. Ned was late to their scheduled spar, which almost never happened. _Is something wrong? Or did Ned get his head stuck in a book?_ His fears were put to rest when Ned walked into the courtyard with a carefully blank expression.  
  
"Hey, Ned! What took you so…" he trailed off when Prince Rhaegar and a Kingsguard walked after him. _The prince and Ser Jonothor Darry? Why the seven hells are they here?_ Jaime bowed and flourished salute with his wooden sword. "Your grace." He nodded to the knight, trying to keep the excitement off his face. "Ser Jonothor."  
  
"You are Jaime Lannister, son of the Hand." Rhaegar peered at him with violet eyes.  
  
Jaime stared back. The prince seemed rather womanly; Jaime didn't understand Cersei's infatuation with him. "Right." He tossed a sword to Ned. "Come on! I've been waiting for hours!"  
  
"Twenty minutes," Ned corrected. He caught the weapon and grinned. "Ready?"  
  
"As ever!"  
  
Jaime, who devoted far more time to swordsmanship than Ned, had improved exponentially. And he was far more used to having people watch his spar. But Ned was no weakling, either. Though caught off guard by their audience, Ned fought admirably. Their spar lasted a decent amount of time before Jaime managed to disarm Ned with a twist of his sword. Both Rhaegar and Ser Darry seemed impressed by the display—Ser Darry more than the prince.  
  
Ned laughed. "Is that a new trick?"  
  
Jaime twirled his sword mockingly. "Of course. One that worked quite well, I think. You always think too much when you fight." He did his best not to look at the prince or the Kingsguard. "Another?"  
  
"I will join you."  
  
Startled, Ned and Jaime turned to Rhaegar. "What?"  
  
"I want to spar with you." Rhaegar looked unperturbed, as if he habitually walked in on people's sparring sessions. _Well, considering that he's the prince…_  
  
Ned was half-frowning, something he only did when thinking particularly hard. "Here, your grace," he said. Ned handed the wooden weapon to the older boy, who took it hilt first. Jaime shot Ned a glare. _He's leaving me to fight the prince alone?_ With a last glance at Ser Darry, Jaime raised his sword.  
  
"If that's what pleases you, your grace. I'd be glad to spar."  
  
Rhaegar mirrored his gesture, gracefully going on guard. He inclined his head and struck. The prince's swordsmanship was classical and flawless. Each parry was perfect, and each strike left no opening. Jaime tested the prince with feints and tricks he'd picked up along the way, but nothing seemed to phase Rhaegar.  
  
Jaime could feel a trickle of sweat edge past his eyebrow, trailing down to the corner of his eye. The grip on his sword was a hair too tight, and the endless clack of wood on wood jarred his elbow. He could feel his boots chaff against his heel as he stepped back to avoid the prince's lunge. Burning with fatigue, his arm responded slower and slower to each attack. The prince had all the advantage.  
  
Until Jaime used a maneuver he'd learned from Ned. Rhaegar struck back, leaving a gap in his defences, and all Jaime would need to do was slash down, but he hesitated just too long, thinking about what his father would say if he defeated the prince—  
  
Rhaegar pushed past his sword, resting the wooden point on Jaime's neck. "Yield."  
  
The exhilaration melted away and soured into a crushing sense of disappointment. Jaime closed his eyes to prevent the prickle in his eyes from developing into tears.  
  
"I yield," he said in the ghost of a whisper.  
  
Years later, Jaime would smile and think of this spar as the moment he began hating Rhaegar.  


 

* * *

Lord Steffon Baratheon laughed loudly, slapping his hand against the desk as his chuckles faded. Tywin allowed himself a smile at his old friend's familiar joke about whores and maesters.  
  
"Oh, you've always been a difficult one," sighed Steffon, leaning back. "My son reminds me of you. The second one, I mean. Stannis seems to always have a frown on his face. I suppose he takes after Cassanna."  
  
"And the elder one takes after you, I suppose." Tywin swirled his glass of wine while Steffon downed his fourth.  
  
"In more ways than one. Energetic, friendly—"  
  
"Loud," muttered Tywin.  
  
"—charismatic, with a wicked arm. He'll be a great warrior, I tell you!" Steffon smiled fondly, and his handsome features became far less intimidating.  
  
"Just like his father, then." Tywin tipped his glass slightly in acknowledgement.  
  
"Yes, yes." Steffon sighed as his friend poured him another glass. "I should have brought Robert with me to King's Landing. He could have become good friends with your son. I think they'd have gotten along well." The Baratheon hesitated before taking another sip. "Though I hear that the Stark boy, the one you're warding, what was his name…"  
  
"Eddard," Tywin supplied.  
  
"Ah, yes! The second Stark. I hear that he's very close to your son. Perhaps they would have been another trio, just like you, me, and Aerys."  
  
"Perhaps." Tywin's words were carefully neutral. Steffon always displayed a boisterous personality, but underneath all his bluster, he had a keener mind than one would expect.  
  
"Yes, indeed…" Steffon's blue eyes became pensive. "Interesting, how there's been more Starks south of the Neck. Rickard's third son is in the Vale, isn't he?"  
  
"From what I've heard." Tywin raised an eyebrow. "I've also heard rumors that you plan on sending Stannis there. Interesting, indeed."  
  
Steffon's laugh was wry. "Perhaps," he said, echoing Tywin. "But alliances make us strong."  
  
"They can also force us to act, and not always in ways that benefits us."  
  
Steffon raised his glass in a mock salute. "Indeed. And they may cause certain _others_ to become suspicious."  
  
The Baratheon was, of course, referring to the king. Aerys had started seeing assassins in every shadow, schemes in every conversation, traitors in every friend. An unfortunate amount of that paranoia had been directed towards Tywin, lately, and Rickard's aggressive actions certainly didn't help.  
  
"Which why you haven't sent your second son to the Vale, yet." Tywin set his glass down. "Hedging your bets?"  
  
"Of course." Steffon grinned. "You taught me that. You always did beat me at cyvasse."  
  
"Yes, I did." Tywin smiled back. "It's fortunate that we're on the same side, Steffon."  
  
The unspoken question hovered between them, thickening the air: _fortunate for who?_  
  
Both knew better than to answer it.  


 

* * *

 

Jaime stormed through the Keep, wooden sword slapping against his thigh. The prince, the prince, the _prince._ No one ever shut up about him! He couldn't even get through a sparring session without one dolt or another mentioning his name. _The next time someone says his name_ , _I'm going to punch them in the face._  
  
"Jaime?" the low voice of Eddard interrupted his thoughts.  
  
"Ned!" Jaime grinned, previous irritation forgotten at the sight of his closest friend. "How rare to see you outside of the library, without your face plastered to a book! What brings you from your cavern?"  
  
The Stark looked rather sheepish. "Er, I was looking for Prince Rhaegar. I finished the book he suggested, and I wanted to ask him about it. He's usually sparring with Arthur Dayne and Jon Connington, about now."  
  
Jaime's dark mood returned in full force. "Is that so?"  
  
"Yes…" Ned's solemn face became concerned. "Jaime, is something wrong?"  
  
"No, no." Jaime gave a mock, exaggerated bow, complete with a flourish. "Lead the way to your Prince Rhaegar."  
  
"He's your prince, too," corrected Ned mildly, nonetheless guiding his friend through the convoluted passages of the Red Keep. "You should be careful."  
  
"I'm always careful." The Lannister's smile had a sharp edge that belied his jest.  
  
"There you are!" the shrill voice of Cersei Lannister caused both to stop. Though they each reacted with surprise, Eddard's expression also had a distinct tint of horror.  
  
"Stark, how dare you leave me in the library without an escort!" She stamped her feet as she barrelled towards the boys, crimson skirts flying behind her. "You said that you'd take me to Prince Rhaegar!"  
  
"I said nothing of that sort." Ned's voice had just enough cold condescension and outrage to give the twins pause. Jaime knew he was lying, and from her reddening face, Cersei did too—but what startled them was how eerily similar Eddard had sounded like their father. More than the tone, Eddard's self-possession and unperturbed expression were hallmarks of the Lord Lannister.  
  
Cersei recovered first. "Yes, you did! You did! Now, take me to him! I know you're going there yourself!"  
  
For one, long moment, Eddard visibly grappled with his decision. Jaime rolled his eyes and sighed. _Really, Cersei and Ned are like hounds and cats. They'd get along if they tried, but they seem determined to hate each other._  
  
"Come on, Ned." He nudged his foster brother. "Don't give Cers any trouble. The sooner this is over with, the better."  
  
Eddard glared at the Lannister girl, but he finally relented. "Fine."  
  
The prince's favorite sparring grounds weren't far from their position, but Ned and Cersei's squabbling made it feel like they had walked all the way to the North. Jaime wasn't sure whether to be thankful or angry when they shut up. On one hand, they were quiet, but on the other hand, they'd shut up because of the prince.  
  
"Prince Rhaegar!" giggled Cersei, swishing her skirts. "Did you miss me?"  
  
Said Targaryen was in deep conversation with Jon Connington, but after a few moments, he finally deigned to turn his attention towards the blonde. Jaime bristled at the look Rhaegar gave his sister: thinly veiled contempt covered by a smile.  
  
"Lady Cersei," he said, voice neutral. The prince's voice barely changed when he addressed the two younger boys. "Lord Eddard. Lord Jaime."  
  
Ned bowed, and only the jab of his elbow reminded Jaime to do the same. "Prince Rhaegar." Ned's greeting was courteous but unusually cheerful. Jaime tried not to scowl.  
  
"Is there something you wished to ask me?" Rhaegar and Jon Connington exchanged a look that made the rage in Jaime's stomach grow.  
  
"Ah, yes, it's about the book—"  
  
"My apologies, Eddard." The prince brushed past the three, Jon Connington following close behind. "I have something urgent to attend to. Perhaps some other time?"  
  
Ned's disappointment was palatable. "Yes, of course."  
  
It took every iota of Jaime's self-control to avoid stabbing Rhaegar in the back. Sure, all Jaime had was his wooden sword, but he'd manage. How _dare_ Rhaegar treat Cersei and Eddard like that! He had no _right._  
  
As Jaime watched Rhaegar leave, he could feel his stomach curdle with resentment. One day, the prince would pay.  
  


 

* * *

Like clockwork, Ned would go to Tywin's solar for a game of cyvasse. Once week, exactly midday. Skipping the meet had consequences. Arriving late had consequences. Even being _distracted_ had consequences.  
  
Which is why Ned was surprised to see Lord Lannister sitting at his desk, writing something down on parchment. No cyvasse board was in sight. Eddard approached with his head high, taking care to hide his confusion. He stopped a few steps from Lord Lannister and waited.  
  
Several minutes passed, and the lord had either not noticed him, or he was simply unconcerned. It was likely the latter. He kept his silence, though enough time had passed to make Ned restless. Finally, his patience was rewarded, and the scratch of quill against parchment stopped.  
  
"Eddard," said Lord Lannister, looking at his ward. His green eyes were as dispassionate as the stone they resembled. "Why have you entered my solar?"  
  
"Well, m-my lord," fumbled Ned, his composure cracked. Lord Tywin hadn't actually forgotten, had he? He recovered quickly, striving not to attract the Lannister's ire. "I assumed that, well, that we'd be playing a cyvasse match…" he trailed off, though he managed to keep his gaze steady.  
  
Lord Tywin set his quill down. "I am the Hand of the King. I do not have time for games."  
  
Eddard glanced to the side. Lord Tywin had said again and again that looking down was a symbol of weakness, and Eddard struggled to keep that weakness from showing in his eyes.  
  
"Eddard, do you understand?"  
  
He forced himself to look at the Hand of the King. "Yes, my lord."  
  
"Very well." The lord resumed his writing. "Do not slacken in your studies. I shall know if you do."  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
Eddard hurried from the room, ignoring the prickling feeling in his throat. He turned from one hallway to another, the faces in the elaborate tapestries staring down, further reminders of his isolation. He paused, closed his eyes, and continued to his room.  
  
In some ways, King's Landing was more treacherous than the Northern winter. Here, Eddard was a lone wolf, long since separated from his pack, and the lone wolf always died. His quarters here were larger and finer than the one's in Casterly Rock, but Eddard would rather be in the mountain fortress than in this gilded cage. He'd rather be in the sparse, cold rooms of Winterfell, where people actually cared about him and talked to him instead of treating him like an illiterate savage.  
  
Well, neither was entirely true. Not everyone in King's Landing treated him like a savage. Rhaegar sought him out and valued his opinion, though only when it was convenient for the Prince. And not everyone in Winterfell actually cared about him.  
  
His siblings, for one. Their letters had slowed in frequency—Benjen was in the Vale, Lyanna had lost interest, as she always did, and Brandon was too busy preparing to be a lord.  
  
Too busy. _Too busy._ How Eddard despised that phrase. Jaime was too busy playing at being a knight, Lord Lannister was too busy running a kingdom, and his siblings were too busy living their own lives.  
  
So, there Eddard was, the second son of House Stark, stuck in the south where he didn't belong.  
  
With bitterness, Ned mused that he wasn't important enough to command the time or attention of anyone significant.  
  
As Lord Kevan Lannister had said, second sons were the spare, and it was best that they remain that way. The shadow of Lord Tywin by choice, Lord Kevan managed Casterly Rock when his older brother was otherwise occupied. Eddard had dined with him before, and the memory of that meal only made his mood darker.  
  
Lord Kevan was fonder of the wine glass than his brother, and when enough wine had been imbued, he was eager to impart his wisdom. He always held his ruby goblet like sword, in front of him and to the side, letting the gems catch the light.  
  
"Second sons must be cunning, but not too cunning. Charming, but not too charming. Courageous, but not too courageous—"  
  
"Competent, but not too competent?" Ned had interrupted.  
  
"Competent enough. Just enough. Careful, now." The gleam in his eyes had reminded Eddard that Kevan Lannister was a lion, just like his brother. "Any more, and you become a threat. Any less, and you become a liability." Kevan had drawn his goblet closer, like a knight about to parry. "But there is value in being overlooked. No one notices you… until it's too late."  
  
Yet, as Eddard ran over Kevan's words in his head, he came to a sudden realization. Eddard didn't _want_ to be overlooked. Not forever. Oh, he'd wait, and he'd be patient. Ned was good at that. But one day, Eddard would step from the shadows, and everyone would know his name.  
  
And no one would be too busy for him.  


 

* * *

 

After Queen Rhaella gave birth to Prince Viserys, the king flew into a rage. The birth of a son had driven a wrench into his plans of securing a Targaryen bride for Prince Rhaegar, but the king's anger dissipated as quickly as it arrived. Soon after Viserys was determined to be a healthy boy, King Aerys' paranoia grew tenfold. He burned every gift offered to the newly-born prince, thus managing to insult every lord in Westeros at once.  
  
A pall of fear and gloom fell over the Red Keep, affecting everyone from the serving smallfolk to the highest Lord. The king descended further and further into his madness, seized by his terror for his newest son's survival. The tourney held in honor of Prince Viserys' birth, arranged by Lord Lannister, brought the entire realm closer together and drove it further apart.

* * *

 

  
Tywin looked over the stands of the Red Keep. Smallfolk and nobles alike screamed as Prince Rhaegar threw Tygett Lannister from his horse. By all measures, the tourney was a great success. But the Lord of Casterly rock felt nothing but cold, a feeling that had nothing to do with the approaching winter. King Aerys had given Tywin the responsibility of organizing the tourney, and the King's Hand had taken it first as an honor. Foolishly, futilely, Tywin had hoped it was a sign of further reconciliation. A sign that his old friend had returned.  
  
_I should know better._ His thoughts were more bitter than the poisons Aerys feared. _Targaryen madness has sunk its claws into the king._  
  
King Aerys had used the tourney as an opportunity to belittle and slander his Hand at every opportunity. No decision Tywin made, from the color of the banners to the type of horse oats, was good enough for the esteemed Targaryen on the throne.  
  
The cheering grew louder as Prince Rhaegar unseated another nameless knight. Though it was no great feat, the prince seemed saner than his father. By all reports, Rhaegar was intelligent and sensible. _Perhaps Westeros isn't entirely doomed._ _With Cersei as his queen, Rhaegar's reign should be prosperous and stable._  
  
Tywin glanced at the king, seated far above the other lords. Aerys scowled down at everyone, looking as if he wanted to burn the whole stands down. No, Tywin couldn't speak to him now. Judging from screams of the serving girls, Aerys was in one of his foul moods. Tywin would approach the king after the tourney. Then, Cersei would be betrothed to Rhaegar, and the future of his family and his fortune would be secure.  


 

* * *

The feast was the largest and most sumptuous that Ned had ever seen, but he had no appetite. At the head of the table was Prince Rhaegar and his retinue, which Eddard wasn't a part of. Then again, what _was_ he part of? Eddard had wandered through the tourney, unnoticed or disdained, doing nothing but watching. Jaime had been with his knight companions, and Rhaegar had actually fought in the tourney, so neither of his friends had bothered with _him_.  
  
Jaime made some inane jest, and Ned didn't bother to even smile. Right now, his thoughts were enough company.  


 

* * *

 

"And I backhanded him with my sword!" finished Jaime. He frowned when Eddard remained quiet. For some reason, the Stark seemed gloomier than usual. Before Jaime could inquire about his friend, the king stole attention of everyone in the hall. The raucous sounds of conversation quieted as Aerys raised a trembling hand.  
  
"Lord Lannister," he said, voice keening but pitched to carry. "I believe you wish to discuss the matter of your daughter's betrothal."  
  
And Jaime's world _shattered_.  


 

* * *

 

Anger, followed by suspicion. Tywin had been careful to avoid all mentions of his daughter's marriage prospects, but _somehow_ , the king knew. And Aerys had forced his hand, especially by doing so in such a public place.  
  
"Perhaps we can discuss at a later time, after the feast in honor of Prince Viserys, the third of his name. Today should be celebrating your son, and your son, only."  
  
Tywin's unsubtle deflection was summarily ignored.  
  
"Is that so?" Aerys' rheumy eyes glistened as he peered at his former friend. "Is that so? No, let's get on with it. Tell me who you wish to betroth your daughter to, though we both know what you seek."  
  
From the sitting lords to the jesters to the serving smallfolk by the doors, not a single one made a sound.  
  
But Tywin's thoughts were anything but quiet. The king _knew_. Despite his raging thoughts, the Lannister Lord remained impassive. "I wished to betroth my daughter to your son, your grace."  
  
The silence grew more fragile.  
  
"Of course you do." The king's head lolled to the side. "Tywin, you have long been a loyal and faithful servant."  
  
"Thank you, your grace." The years had accustomed Tywin to the king's moods and tells—the glint in Aerys' eyes was undeniably, familiarly cruel. Tywin had to tread carefully.  
  
"When Rhaegar takes the throne, I'm sure that you will serve him equally well." The king stretched out a single finger, his overgrown nail curling down to his palms.  
  
"Of course, your grace." They had reached the precipice, but Tywin was unwavering.  
  
"There lies the problem!" Aerys' laugh was shrill, though it petered into a hiss. "My son cannot marry the daughter of his servant."  
  
And the silence ended.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update? Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are. Thank you for all your responses! I'm really glad you enjoyed it. Of course, special thanks to Duesal Bladesinger for being my awesome beta, and Igornerd for looking it over. (The last time I checked, neither are on this website.)


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